


Let the Bells Keep on Ringing

by Hyperion327



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Christmas, Fluff, Holidays? More like HoliGAYS, Look it’s Christmas let me enjoy the aesthetic of some snow gays, M/M, New Year’s Eve, Stiles cannot ice skate no matter what he says, break-ups, winter shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperion327/pseuds/Hyperion327
Summary: Fresh off of a breakup and having sworn off humans for good, Derek starts to realize some things about Stiles.ORHow an overripe banana, a shattered mahogany chair, and questionable footprints in the snow led to two idiots getting their act together.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Past Derek Hale/Paige - Relationship
Comments: 11
Kudos: 480





	Let the Bells Keep on Ringing

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff. It’s all fluff. No one gets blown up, enslaved, sacrificed to a vengeful Earth Goddess, flung through alternate universe, or anything else I’ve done to these poor bastards over my years in this fandom. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanza. Blessed Solstice, Happy Diwali, and to any other I’ve missed, Happy Holidays! Title is from Sleeping At Last’s Snow (SHOCKER! A SLEEPING AT LAST TITLE!)

Fat snowflakes dance around the night air, reflecting the lights of the parking lot around him like falling stars. Bundled up in a rather expensive peacoat, one of the few luxuries he truly gives a damn about, Derek meanders through the Beacon Hills High School’s first annual winter carnival. The air is rich with the scent of peppermint and cocoa, so strong it must be apparent even to human nostrils. 

His classmates move in bundled up little groups like penguins, squawking and gossiping amongst themselves as they flock from booth to booth. The only one he’s bothered to actually participate in is the heated dunk booth, and that’s only because he _really_ doesn’t like Jackson Whittemore, and relishes any chance to make that self-satisfied prick uncomfortable. The look on his face when Derek managed to rail bullseye after bullseye, dropping his ass in the steaming water five times in total was well worth the two bucks it cost to do it.

His passive observation of the flocking habits of the American high school student in the winter environment is interrupted by none other than his supposedly favorite sister. “So, you done brooding yet?” Laura asks, smirking at him. “Because Dad asked me to keep an eye on you, but Corrin wants to do the Ferris Wheel and even I can’t keep that close a watch from up there.”

Annoyed chagrin floods him. “What sort of alpha apparent can’t keep an eye on her future betas at all times?” Derek snipes, knowing the perfect way to make Laura fuck off is to insult her training as their mother’s successor. 

There’s a momentary flush of anger across his elder sister’s face, but it’s replaced by what is clearly well-rehearsed serenity. “I know you’re just speaking hurtfully because you yourself are hurting, and I want you to know how much I love you, and that I am here for you in your time of pain, you melodramatic little _bitch.”_ The last word gets spat out. 

“Nice speech. I’m guessing Aunt Gwen told you to use it?” He ventures. Peter’s wife has always to keep the peace in their house, even if she usually just winds up talking to a furry wall. 

“Mom, actually. Kita told me to add the little bitch part.” She replies, still clearly pissed off. “Since you’re gonna be a brat because your girlfriend dumped you, I am going to enjoy time with my boyfriend. I wash my hands of you.” 

There is a God, and She is merciful. Without a reply, Derek walks away, adjusting his scarf as he does. He’s grateful he hasn’t encountered Paige’s scent this evening. It’s been three weeks, and still it burns mockingly in his nose every time he crosses it. The scent actually hurts more than the sight of her, because her scent reveals that she’s feeling none of the anguish he is around the end of their time. 

Christmas music drifts from speakers mounted around the parking lot of BHHS, and Derek finds himself humming along to Elton John’s _Little Drummer Boy_ until he hears a distinct voice, one he’s all too familiar with, unfortunately. 

“Cora, _come on!”_ Stiles Stilinski’s crisp tenor echoes across the lot. “Ten minutes! Ten minutes with me around the skating rink!” 

On an objective level, Derek likes Stiles. He’s weird in a niche way that he can appreciate, and he’s proven nothing but a true friend to Cora since they met in second grade. The problem lies in the fact that he has had the biggest boner for Derek in human history since he was about fourteen. Though he isn’t making this public knowledge like he did with Lydia Martin for so many years, it’s hard to hide the scent of desire, especially as strong as his is, from a pack of werewolves that he’s around on an almost daily basis. 

Cora’s voice is full of humor. “No, Stiles. I am not going to enable you in your quest to injure yourself in increasingly stupid ways. Remember when you convinced me to go roller skating and you bruised your tailbone? You were sitting on that stupid butt donut for a month!” 

“I maintain that the floor was uneven.” Stiles defends, and Derek can see the embarrassed blush rising on his face from quite a distance. 

“And _I_ maintain that you are more uncoordinated than a newborn giraffe. If you want to get yourself killed by sailing your clumsy ass across frozen water on a pair of knives, be my guest, but I will have no part in it.” She says with finality. 

Just as Derek is about to turn away and head for one of the snack booths, Stiles catches sight of him and calls out. “Derek! Derek, c’mon, please go ice skating with me! Don’t make me be that loser who’s out there all alone!” He pleads, running over to him, and the werewolf is greeted by his familiar sugar and lilac scent that’s cut by the harsh edge of his Adderall. 

He wants to say no, knowing it’ll just feed the infatuation the younger man has for him, but there’s something in those amber eyes that has him caving almost immediately. “Alright. _Ten minutes,”_ Derek says. “And we will stop if you hurt yourself. I don’t care how fine you insist you are.” 

Cora trails over behind Stiles, smiling bemusedly. _“Soft touch.”_ She mutters, too quiet for the human to hear. He doesn’t deign to respond.

They head over to where part of the soccer practice field has been replaced by a mobile ice rink, and Derek pays for them both because his mother raised a gentleman, and because he knows that even on the pay of a sheriff, the Stilinski household can be strapped for cash at times. Once their skates are on, the two boys are out into the large rink, which is luckily rather empty at the moment, with only a handful of people drifting lazily across the ice. Good, less chance that Stiles will take someone else out if — _when_ — he goes down.

At first Stiles stays close to Derek, not hanging off of him, but close enough to grab if need be. Once he seems to find a bit more equilibrium, he drifts further and further away, eventually moving with a surprising amount of grace as he whirls his way in gentle curves over the rink. Derek has to admit, he’s actually quite impressed by the showing, and if the whoops coming from where Cora watches from the sidelines are any indicator, he’s not alone. 

He eventually picks up his pace, opting to move quickly in a circle around the rink while Stiles continues to draw patterns in the ice at the center. After a moment, the human calls out to him. “Hey, Derek, watch this!” He yells.

Stiles begins to move faster, using his momentum to form a complex series of arcs across the ice before finishing with an impressively tight three-sixty spin. He looks for Derek’s approval, smiling with exhilaration as his chest heaves with the exertion of his little routine. The werewolf can’t help but beam at him, genuinely impressed. 

“Excellent-” 

_Thud._ Stiles goes down, despite having been standing still. 

“Work…” 

“I’m okay!”

**-❄-**

The next few days after that little display of surprising grace, Derek finds himself noticing more and more the things about Stiles that he’s previously ignored. The meticulous streak he’s carried his whole life goes down to his fashion sense, apparently, as there is a rhyme and reason to which flannels he pairs with which graphic tee shirts. Derek has learned to tune him out, as he has always made a great deal of noise, but it’s only when he really listens that he realizes that Stiles is _singing,_ just so quietly that most people couldn’t pick it up unless their ears were to his lips. 

No matter what he is doing, there is music pouring from his lips. Sometimes it’s fragmentary lyrics that Derek can recognize, other times just wordless tunes. It seems to pick up more when he’s anxious. Whenever there is a moment of rare quiet in the house when Stiles is over, he will strain his ears to listen for whatever tune is rattling around in the younger one’s head. 

There are other things, too, like the way his scent flares with affection whenever he catches sight of Kita or Alex, and the natural, almost wolf-like deference he has to Derek’s mother. The fond, almost parental tone in his voice whenever he gets to talking about managing his own father’s diet has thoughts of his fitness as a mate running through Derek’s head, which, _what?_

Stiles may have had a crush on Derek for an uncomfortable amount of time, but that knowledge has never inspired anything more than a degree of flattery in him, let alone thoughts of reciprocation. Stiles is _human,_ and Paige was a testament to the fact that a relationship between a wolf and a human not in the know simply could not work, and though Stiles is different than Paige, though he may know and have varying degrees of love and/or tolerance for the members of the Hale family, there is no telling how he would handle such knowledge. 

It really should come as no surprise to Derek, however, that his wolf has apparently set its course on Stiles long before he’s even ready to consider moving on from the ragged wounds Paige left on his heart. The biological reaction to his scent is immediate, and the very sight of the human boy two years his younger has Derek’s skin itching with the urge to claim, the urge to protect, and, most surprisingly, the urge to _fuck._

“Hey, Der-bear, come on.” Laura’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. She stands in the living room of their home in a pair of old jeans that have been shredded into tattered shorts and a sports bra, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her feet bare. “Moon’ll be up in a few.”

There may be a foot and a half of snow on the ground and the temperature may be low enough to grant even a gentle breeze some serious bite, but the near-infernal heat of the wolf and the call of the moon, not to mention the tendency to trash their clothes, necessitates that the Hales should wear as little as possible when they go out under the light of Mother Moon.

Derek nods, trying and failing to shake the thoughts of Stiles from his head as he trails out onto the back porch to join his pack in watching the moon rise. When the silver disc clears the treeline and bathes the eleven werewolves in its sirenic light, he feels his mother’s unbreakable strength more strongly now than he does any other time of the month, and Derek lets the wolf within out, tasting blood at the gumline as his fangs descend. He cannot see, but rather feels the shifting muscles and bones of his face as hair springs across his hands and arms, and he lets out a soft growl as he loses himself in the feeling of Mother Moon on his skin. 

Without a word, with barely even a sound, the Hale pack is taking off into the night, sprinting for the treeline as they move in a unit. The snow, which would immediately send any human running back for the safety and warmth of inside, only registers as a slight annoyance for Derek, one that requires him to put a bit more effort into moving through the stuff. As they run through the snowy, moonlit forest, the Hales begin to yip, yelp, and growl to one another. 

Peter and Gwen break off first, diverting for a few moments to chase after some rabbits. Evan stays close to Talia, the instinctive deference of the alpha’s mate keeping him with his wife as they run close enough to each other for bare arms and shoulders to rub against one another. Laura and Cora quickly tumble into a playful wrestling match that has snow flying everywhere in a matter of seconds. 

When the family reaches a clearing they are all familiar with in the deepest part of the Preserve, they throw their heads back to bay at the moon, the sound of their howls bouncing off of the treelines in a beautiful chorus that makes Derek’s already heated body flood with another, more pleasant sort of warmth, one that would only be made warmer by the presence of the one that the wolf has already decided upon.

It is just that little thought, that instant, here-and-gone flash of Stiles through his mind’s eye, that sends Derek bolting from the clearing at breakneck pace, bound for town.

**-❄-**

With only an aging desk lamp to light his room, Stiles is unsurprised at the long shafts of moonlight that pour through his window. He sits at his desk, a pair of earbuds delivering music into his ears while he flips through a book, leaning in the chair and balancing it as he does. There’s a sudden but gentle feeling of a shock running through the house, which, though enough to catch his attention, he dismisses as the building settling in the cold temperatures. 

After a few moments, however, he can’t shake the feeling of eyes upon him, though the door is shut and the lights in the houses across the street are all dark. Stiles shakes his head as he shudders through the unnerving sensation, insistent that there is nothing to it but an overactive imagination that needs reeling in with a dose of Adderall, which he has not taken since last night, which is far too long. 

After a few minutes, Stiles finally stands up, and fishes out the baseball bat he keeps in his closet before stalking over to the window, peering out into the crystal clear and blisteringly cold night. “Hello?!” He demands. “Whoever’s out there, I’ve got a bat and I know how to use it!” 

He feels stupid making threats to a closed window, but it seems to do the trick, or at least settle his nerves. That probing, uneasy feeling is gone. As turns off the lamp and settles under his duvet, he is unaware of the pair of burning gold eyes that watch from the tree in his front yard.

**-❄-**

“Of all the foolish, idiotic, downright _stupid_ things to do, you go hunting after _Stiles?!”_ Cora explodes at Derek. “Are you trying to expose us, or worse, hurt him?!”

The very idea of harm falling on Stiles, especially from himself, is enough to have Derek standing up from the stool at the island in the kitchen so quickly that it goes crashing to the floor with a great clatter as he snarls loudly in his sister’s face. At once, Talia is there with blazing red eyes and a tone in her voice that leaves no room for argument.

“Alright, enough!” She barks. “Cora, drag your ass!” 

Cora spares one last seething look for Derek before she stalks wordlessly upstairs, slamming her bedroom door shut with enough force to rattle the windows. Talia, meanwhile, turns to face her son, who has picked up the stool he knocked over and reseated himself.

“Talk to me, Der.” She says. “What’s up with Stiles? Every time he’s here, your scent changes, and now this? What is going on, pup?”

Derek can’t outright lie and say nothing is the matter, because that will upset his mother more than what is actually the matter, so he goes for the nonanswer. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’ll sort it out.”

She shakes her head. “Derek Stephen. You broke from your pack to go to him on the night of a full moon. Getting you down without exposing ourselves was nearly impossible. We’re passed worried, I’m afraid for you, and for that poor boy.” 

_Dammit._ He should have known she wouldn’t give it up. “The wolf is acting up, that’s all. I need to work on my control. It’s this breakup, it’s affected me more than I should have let it.” Again, not technically a lie. Just an omission of truth. 

Unfortunately for him, there’s a distinct knowing look now glinting in his mother’s eyes, and her scent floods with happiness, even if she has a killer poker face. “Alright, Derek. You do know that you’re going to have to be chained next moon, though, right?” 

“I know, Ma.” 

“And I would sort it out quickly. I invited the Stilinskis to our Christmas party.”

At school the next day, Derek is in line to pay for his lunch, listening to Isaac going on about Scott McCall, when he hears it, the grating voice of Jackson Whittemore. 

“Watch it, _freak.”_ He spits, and when Derek turns, it’s to see him menacing over Stiles. What happens next is pure instinct. 

There is a flash of yellow soaring across the room so quickly that one could blink and miss it, a very distinct, wet _splat,_ and a moment of utter silence before Whittemore is screaming. _“What the fuck?!”_

Jackson is covered in the viscera of Derek’s banana, great globs of the pale yellow flesh of the fruit hanging from his spiked hair, covering his face, splattered across his extremely expensive sweater, and even a thin strand connecting his upper and lower eyelashes. Another second later, the students around him break into uproarious laughter, all except for Stiles, who is staring at Derek with an enigmatic look on his face before gesturing for him to come over as Jackson flees the scene, no doubt to attempt to salvage his appearance. 

Once his lunch is paid for, Derek joins Stiles at an empty table far from both of their usual spots. 

“Thank you for that.” He says, popping a french fry in his mouth.

Derek smirks, satisfaction coming from the wolf inside and curling in his stomach. “Thank the school for serving us overripe bananas.” 

Stiles shakes his head. “Not what I meant. Thank you for avenging me, you have no idea how good it feels to see Jackson be on the receiving end of a cruel joke for once.” 

“You’re welcome, Stiles.”

“The question is,” He leans back in his chair, “Why?”

The werewolf shrugs. “Can’t I just be looking out for a kid I’m friends with?” 

“Don’t bullshit me.” He shoots back. “I deserve better than that.” 

Derek’s forebrain is filled with frustration and chagrin, while his insufferable hindbrain is praising the cleverness and strength of their prospective mate. He is of two minds whenever it comes to Stiles, and he hates it. “Look, it’s just…” He trails, desperately trying to convey the conflict within his head to the boy. 

Stiles’ scent becomes filled with desire, likely as a result of Derek’s voice becoming low and pleading against his own volition. He leans in close, and Derek watches as his amber-colored eyes become dark, as blood rushes across his cheeks. His own body responds, and his voice sounds husky even to his own ears as he speaks. 

“Can you afford to miss the last of your classes?” He asks.

Stiles frantically nods. “I definitely can.” 

“Eat up, we’re leaving soon.”

**-❄-**

They take Stiles’ Jeep — _Roscoe, Derek! His name is Roscoe! —_ back to the Hale house, which is going to be blessedly empty until Laura drives back with Cora, Kita, and Alex around three o’clock and the adults in the house trickle back from their various occupations. 

The whole drive there, furious desire simmers underneath Derek’s skin, but he holds it in, well aware that he could overwhelm the virginal boy next to him by moving too quickly. It isn’t even really a choice anymore, and he’s accepted that fact, much to the joy of the wolf within, which throws its head back and howls in victory. 

Crossing the snow-glazed treeline of the Preserve and into the massive clearing the Hale house has been built into, Stiles grins like a little kid at the sight of the vast stretches of unperturbed snow deposited in sheets last night. 

His voice fills Derek’s stomach with butterflies as he speaks. “We _have_ to build a snowman, Der!” 

Who is he to say no to that? 

Once they get inside and change into snow gear, Derek lending a pair of his extra thick winter gloves to the younger man, the two young men take a moment to appraise one another, both of them bundled up like they’re going on an arctic expedition.

“Dude, you look totally ridiculous.” Stiles laughs. 

Derek snorts. “You’re one to talk. You look like the little brother from _A Christmas Story.”_

“Shut up and build a snowman with me, Hale.” 

Outside, the sun is brilliant, and reflects off of the wintry landscape beautifully. They have a carrot from the kitchen for a nose, some spare buttons from Ritsa Hale’s sewing materials for eyes and a mouth, and they’ve filched one of Laura’s trilbies she had for last year’s production of _Chicago_ to act as the hat. 

It takes the two boys only a few minutes to build a large snowman in the enormous yard, and when they’re finished up, Stiles adjusts the hat on his head and the scarf wrapped around his neck to his pleasure before nodding once with finality.

“There,” He declares, “Perfect! He kinda looks like Peter, honestly.”

“Yeah, if Peter were a gay mobster in the Twenties.” His companion dryly replies.

Stiles smirks. “Peter probably was a gay mobster in the Twenties in a past life, you know.” 

Derek goes to question that assertion, but realizes he can’t. Rather than concede the point, he leans down and grabs a handful of snow. While Stiles is still busy observing their handiwork, he compacts the snow into a sphere and uses every bit of his enhanced senses to fling the snowball with flawless form to explode against the younger man’s back.

The human boy whirls around, outrage and humor warring on his face. “Oh, you ass! It is _so_ on!” He declares, leaning down and gathering his own mass of snow. 

Breaking into a dead sprint as he leans down to grab more ammunition, Derek lets out a bellicose laugh and prepares to fire again. Before he can even do so, however, he’s struck by a snowy projectile in his left shoulder, which explodes and paints half of his face in slurry. 

The exchange goes back and forth for quite a while, the field filling with the sounds of their joyous laughter as they lob snowballs with lethal aim. It ends, however, when a panting, flustered Stiles calls for a truce, and he makes quite a show of walking back over to Derek with his hands held open and high, making solemn vows of honoring the peace. 

“Get over here, you goober.” Derek snickers. When he gets close, the werewolf can’t help but notice the cherry-colored flush of the other teen’s cheeks and lips, nor the way his eyes smolder and dance like whiskey sloshing in a glass. Snowflakes decorate the fringe of Stiles’ bangs where they stick out from under his beanie like a crown befitting the Prince of Winter, and he is overwhelmed by the urge to pull the boy into his arms and never let go. 

Stiles pauses, his face taking on that same questioning gaze he wore in the cafeteria after Derek used Jackson to make some very unconventional banana pudding. “There something on my face?” He asks, clearly trying for humor, but the attempt fails with the slight tremor in his voice. 

Even buried under the layers of winter clothing, Derek can take in the human boy’s scent as it becomes heavy with desire and affection again, and he is helpless but to lean in, pausing when their faces are only inches apart. 

“This okay?” He whispers, to which Stiles only nods, never breaking eye contact as he does. 

That first meeting of their lips is everything harlequin novels and bad fanfiction promised it would be, all supernovae and angelic choirs singing. The kiss is everything Derek thought, hoped, even _dreamed_ it would be. Stiles is inexpert in the curl of his lips, and unsure about where to place his hands, but it’s perfect, well and truly perfect. 

Paige had kissed soft and sweet, like she was almost afraid to take it any further, and it had frustrated Derek that he had to coax her out of her shell every time they passed anything more than chaste liplocks. Stiles, in comparison, is all consuming. He meets Derek’s fire with equal heat, and it makes him want more, so much more. 

They finally break apart, leaning their foreheads against one another as they trade chaste kisses and breathless laughter. “That was…” Stiles trails. “I don’t have words. Word machine broke. Vocabulary card declined. I can offer you a gift card instead, sir.” 

Derek laughs in disbelief. “How dare you quote memes at me after our first kiss?” 

“Fuck your chicken strips.” He declares with all the solemnity of the most ancient sages.

That one earns him a snowball against the side of his head.

**-❄-**

The next time they are alone together, it is in Stiles’ bedroom a few days later, and it takes only minutes for them to wind up sprawled out on the bed, their forms curled tight around one another as they trade subdued kisses that promise fire, but only smolder for the moment. Without reservation, Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and straddles him, and chaste kisses quickly become filthy. 

Groaning into the other man’s mouth, the werewolf reaches up, letting his hands glide under Stiles’ shirt to feel the smooth, flushed expanse of his chest free of any hindrance. Stiles lets out a groan into Derek’s mouth when one of the older man’s thumbs brush across his nipple. The broken sound only serves to further spur him on, driving Derek to hike the offending article up and pull Stiles up into his lap before leaning in close to run his tongue across the pebbled flesh. 

“Oh, Christ, Der- _ek!”_ Stiles’ voice cracks when his other nipple is gently grasped between his lover’s fingers. 

He pulls off, looking at Stiles with blown pupils and the power of a sun burning behind his eyes. “Not Christ, but glad to know this is a religious experience for you.” He quips.

“You’re such a goofball.” The younger teen mutters before leaning down to claims his lips once more. As he settles in Derek’s lap, he can feel the telltale press of firm flesh against his own, and he takes the risk, grinding his erection against Derek’s, which has them both seeing stars. After a few minutes of desperate, near animal rutting, Derek breaks off from the kiss when he hears the approach of Sheriff Stilinski’s cruiser. 

“Stiles-” He’s cut off when the boy latches on the run teeth over the expanse of his neck. “Fuck, Stiles, we gotta stop.” He insists.

Instantly, Stiles is pulling back, concern painted on his face. “What’s wrong? Did you not like tha-?” 

“Shh.” Derek holds up a finger to his lips. “Your dad’s gonna be home.” 

Sure enough, the sentence is punctuated by the sound of John slamming the car door shut on his way into the house. A look of shock crosses Stiles’ face before he is immediately crawling out of Derek’s lap and walking over to the mirror.

“Shit.” He curses. “There’s no disguising what we were doing, is there?” 

A lightbulb goes off in Derek’s head. “Hang on, I’ll fix it. Hand me my coat.” He instructs as he slides on his boots, thankful immediately that he hadn’t taken off his stuff until they were safe within the confines of Stiles’ room. 

As soon as he hears kitchen door shut and the Sheriff begin the process of hanging up his gun, Derek is crawling out of the bedroom window and onto the roof of the veranda, easily making his footsteps as light as possible until he is no longer visible from the window. 

“Fucking genius, Hale!” Stiles whispers to himself, and Derek is thankful for the hearing that lets him pick it up. 

As he leans against the pale siding of the Stilinski house, he listens in on the goings on, and he feels the subtle tremors in the house as the Sheriff’s boots climb up the steps and into his son’s bedroom.

“Hey, kiddo.” John Stilinski calls through the door, knocking as he does.

There’s a sound of shuffling and blankets rustling before Stiles responds. “Come on in, Dad.” 

“How come you’re in bed?”

“Just wanted a nap.”

There’s something like disbelief in John’s voice as he replies. “Okay. How was your day?” 

“It was fine. Not much of anything happened.” Stiles says, perhaps a little too quickly. “How was yours?” 

Derek has to hold back a groan as he listens to this. Stiles really is the _worst_ actor.

“Oh, boring. Had to deal with an accident and some belligerent asshole getting wasted in a bar at eleven in the morning, and then the usual pile of paperwork.” There’s a weariness to the elder Stilinski’s voice as he recounts the day’s events. 

“Sorry you had a shit day. Hey, uh, Derek’s gonna be coming over soon, okay? You mind fending for yourself tonight if we go out?”

“Since when are you hanging out with just Derek?” John asks. 

Stiles clears his throat awkwardly. “Well, Cora and Scott were busy and his friends all had some afterschool thing, so we made plans.” 

There’s a moment of suspicious silence before he answers. “Whatever, kid. Just don’t be out too late, and be careful, the roads are getting slick.”

“Will do, Dad.”

The retreating footsteps indicate that the Sheriff has left the room, and so Derek creeps down and easily leaps off of the veranda. Only seconds later, Stiles pops his head out of the window, looking for Derek, only to be confused when he’s nowhere in sight.

“Der?” He calls. 

The werewolf chuckles to himself before waving from the front yard. “Down here!”

“How’d you do that?” Stiles demands. “Y’know, never mind. I’ll be down in a minute.” 

**-❄-**

They make the agreement that they’ll stay quiet for the moment, at least until Christmas, possibly New Year’s. Everyone will have plenty to say, and no doubt someone will take issue, and for the moment, the two boys just want to have this to themselves. The next week is an endless stream of stolen kisses and clandestine makeouts in increasingly creative spots, and then it is Christmas Eve, and the Hale house is flooded with people. 

“Does your mom really know everyone here?” Stiles asks as even more guests pile into the huge manor. “I know she works in the Bay Area, but c’mon, this is ridiculous.”

Derek looks over to where his mother is laughing over wolfsbane cocktails with Satomi and Kali, and grins. _Great, she’s gonna get_ super _affectionate before the night is out,_ he thinks to himself bemusedly. 

“Well,” He replies, “She’s a very popular lady. Besides, you know some of these people, too. All my friends are here, and so is Scott and his mother.” 

“Who were invited at _your_ insistence, Hale.” The human shoots back. 

A sly, intelligent voice comes up from behind them both. “Such a generous… _friend,_ isn’t he?” Peter’s knowing smirk says. “Derek has always done for those he cares about.”

“I think I hear Alex crying, Peter, you better go check on that.” Derek grinds out. Damn his interfering uncle. 

He waves his hand without concern. “Gwen has him, and you know how very protective she is about our son. Her devotion is almost wolflike, it’s what drew me to her, you know?”

Derek is about two seconds from causing a scene, and the only thing that’s keeping him doing so is the knowledge that they are in mixed company. Instead, he settles for grabbing Stiles by the wrist and leading him into the kitchen to get food from the buffet that the whole house spent the entire day laboring over.

“You good, dude?” Stiles asks. “Peter really seemed to get under your skin, there.” 

He nods. “Fine. He just knows how to annoy me, and it’s something he’s never fully grown out of.” 

“If you say so. It kinda sounded like he knew.” The last part is said with a bare whisper, and Derek is exceptionally grateful that the kitchen is as loud as it is. 

“Don’t worry.” He replies soothingly. “We’re fine. Now, pass me the spoon for the pasta salad, please.” 

Just as the two boys are finishing their plates, Kita, Derek’s middle school-aged cousin, appears with a wide grin on her face. “There you two are. Laura wants you guys, all the kids are hanging out in the game room.” 

Stiles perks up immediately. “Is she playing?” He eagerly asks.

“They’re in the middle of _‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’_ as we speak.” She replies. 

Well, that settles that, they’re going. Upon their arrival upstairs, Derek’s ears are greeted by the melodious sound of a piano and the wrapping chorus of the classic carol, and when they enter the space, it is to the sight of Cora, Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Laura’s boyfriend Corrin corralled around the central feature of the room, a beautiful grand piano, its glinting onyx surface sleek and modern. Laura sits at the bench, dressed in a strapless red dress trimmed with white, with a Santa hat pinned into her sable curls at an angle. She looks like she could be a Rockette, as done up as she is. 

“Just in time for _‘Christmastime is Here,’_ boys.” She grins. “Hope you watched _Peanuts_ as a kid, Stiles.”

“Religiously.” He vows. 

**-❄-**

After a few rounds of carols with their friends, Derek and Stiles find themselves outside on the back porch, passing a mug of hot cocoa between themselves as they look over the night, clear as a bell and filled with all the promise of Christmas. When the last of the warm drink is gone, Stiles turns to Derek, pulling him close and pressing his lips in a mint and chocolate flavored kiss. 

“I’ll never get sick of kissing you.” He says, voice low with desire. 

Derek makes a noise of agreement before leaning down to nip along the younger teenager’s jawline. Stiles’ fingers reach up, threading themselves through the flop of umber hair that Derek keeps meaning to get cut, but just can’t find himself to do so. 

The werewolf becomes so consumed by the scent, taste, sound, and all-consuming _feeling_ that is so purely Stiles that he does not notice the approach of footsteps, nor the sound of the door opening, only the shocked gasp and quiet curse that leaves the intruder’s mouth.

 _“Shit.”_ Evan Hale whispers. “I- I’m sorry. I’ll go.” With that, he is retreating. 

Stiles groans, letting his head fall back against the post he’s been pinned against with a dull _thunk._ “Is that gonna be a problem? I mean, your folks never seemed like the phobic type, but you never know.” 

“No.” Derek shakes his head, swallowing as he does. “They won’t have a problem with that aspect of the relationship. There are other reasons.” 

“Like what?” He asks, now confused. “They’re not gonna get anal about my age or how I’m Cora’s friend, are they?”

“Something like that…” The werewolf mumbles, mentally damning his father’s intrusion to the darkest depths of hottest Hell as the while. 

It had been easy, _simple,_ when it was just the two of them. It had been small and safe and something that both of them could rely on, and now it was open. There would be questions, accusations, and worst of all, his mother’s _joy._ Talia knew exactly what was up with Derek’s wolf that had led him to go chasing after Stiles last moon, and now her faithful husband would confirm her suspicions, because no alpha’s mate could keep such an important secret from them, especially when that secret was relevant to the safety of the pack. 

The worst part was, Derek can’t even be mad at his father. Every second he’d been with Paige, he had placed them all in some varying degree of danger. There were any number of ways that it could have ended, worst of all being exposure. In the modern era, where everyone carries a camera in their pocket and can deliver high definition footage anything to the furthest reaches of Snapchat, Twitter, and Facebook instantly, secrecy is more important than ever. 

Beneath the constant paranoia is a deep rooted sense of inevitability. History had allowed the supernatural to fade into the shadow of myth, but the harsh light of truth is ever expanding. It isn’t a question of _if,_ it’s a question of _when._ Derek hopes he doesn’t live to see the day it all bursts wide open, and he certainly doesn’t want to be the cause of it. 

“Der?” Stiles asks. “Are we okay?”

The smallness, the edge of fear within his voice and his scent draw Derek out of his thoughts. “Yeah, of course.” He replies, pulling Stiles close and kissing his temple. “Of course we’re okay. Come on, we have to face the music sooner or later.”

**-❄-**

Derek’s mother is waiting for them in the formal dining room, which had been closed off for the evening. Next to her is her sister Ritsa, a severe looking woman who is actually quite lovely, but there’s no doubt that she is the strong right hand of the alpha. The moment Talia catches sight of the two boys, a fond grin fills her freckled face.

“I hear you two got caught in a bit of a predicament.” She remarks. “Now, don’t bullshit me and say this is a new development. Why hide it?” 

Derek swallows. “I-” He goes to explain himself, but Stiles cuts him off.

“We didn’t want to stir stuff up so close to the holidays.” He says. “It’s just… it’s a tough time for my dad and I, and he doesn’t even know that I swing both ways, plus you guys are just so busy, we figured it would be best to break the news when it wasn’t so… festive?”

Talia nods, and turns to Ritsa. “What do you think?”

“If ever there was a time for it.” Her second replies. “Kid’s been around forever and a day, he had to find out sooner or later.” 

The youngest wolf is gobsmacked. They’re going to let Stiles in on the secret? Just like that, after the endless speeches about the importance of secrecy when he was with Paige? The strict adherence to the rules about not seeing her after dark for two days on either side of the moon, they’re just going to tell him because he got caught making out with Derek _once?!_

Stiles makes a nonplussed sound. “Are you guys talking about the werewolf thing? I’ve known about that since I was eleven.” He throws out casually. 

There’s a sound of wood splintering as Talia’s grip on the back of the dining chair she’s been leaning on tightens enough to shatter the ornately carved mahogany into kindling, and Derek watches his mother’s eyes burn like coals in a reflexive display of shock. Meanwhile, his aunt has stumbled backwards and is leaning against the china hutch, while he feels every muscle in his body clamp down so tightly he’s uncertain if they’ll ever reflex. 

“Yeah,” Stiles continues on the same breath, completely unbothered, “Cora accidentally shifted in front of me once, she thought I didn’t see it, but I caught the reflection in a mirror. Besides, I suspected something was up when I got into that locked bookcase in your office and found all those volumes on the pack wars in Europe. I figured they were either some really in-depth fiction novels or fact, and then I saw Cora and got my answer. I just figured you’d try to erase my brain or some shit, since I was just a kid. That or turn me.” 

Talia plucks a few splinters out of her palm. “Well…” She trails. “Uh… shit, I don’t know what to say?”

“Smart kid.” Ritsa says, recovering from the shock. “Really smart kid.” 

“Can you forgive me for holding out on you, Sourwolf?’ He asks, all ease gone from his voice.

Derek blinks. “But why didn’t you let me know?” 

“It wasn’t my place, and it wasn’t my secret to share. I knew you’d tell me when you were ready. I figured I’d bring it up if you hadn’t told me by the time you, like, proposed or something.” Stiles replies. 

“You assumed I was gonna propose?” 

“Don’t you guys mate for life, or has the Dark Web lied to me?” 

The alpha laughs at that statement. “He’s got you there, Derek.” 

“Shh.” He directs to his mother, before again turning to the human next to him. “You… really don’t mind?”

Stiles grins before kissing him, soft and syrupy sweet. He pulls back, threading his fingers through Derek’s hair. “I love it. Besides, now that you know I know, I can finally ask for all the dirty gossip you overhear in class.” 

There’s the smartass who’s overtaken his entire world. God, Derek wouldn’t trade him for anything.

**-❄-**

Christmas comes and Christmas goes, and the Sheriff takes the news beautifully, going so far as to remark that it’s about damn time they stopped sneaking around his back. It seems that though he hadn’t explicitly _seen_ Derek jump from the roof of the porch, the evidence in the footprints he left behind in the snow was pretty damning. 

On New Year’s Eve, the same gaggle of teenagers who sang carols in the game room find themselves standing in a group in Lydia Martin’s living room for her legendary New Year’s party. Stiles has decided to go all out for the evening, wearing a pair of dangerously tight skinny jeans and a mesh tank top, which, seriously, who wears mesh when it’s below freezing? It’s like he’s trying to make Derek go feral and claim him in all the filthy, animal ways some small part of his hindbrain so badly wants to. 

Said sexually frustrating human is currently drifting away from their huddle to grab a drink, rolling his hips to the beat of the music as he does, which is so unfair. Derek is a good boy, he doesn’t deserve this sweetest of tortures. His feet are moving before the wheels in his head have even begun to turn, and Derek is there at the drink table, witnesses be damned, slinking his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulling the slighter teen flush against him.

“You,” He murmurs into his ear, nipping at it as he does, “Are fucking ridiculous. It’s like you’re _trying_ to kill me wearing that shit.” 

Stiles gives a throaty chuckle. “Kill you? Never. Drive you up a wall? Absolutely.” 

“I want to find the nearest empty bedroom and keep you locked there for days.”

“Wait till after midnight, and I’m all yours.” He replies, a fire raging behind his amber eyes.

Derek smirks against the mole-dotted skin of the younger man’s neck. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

They make their way back towards the others to chatter and gossip. After a period of time, everyone breaks apart, and Stiles and Derek are together on the dance floor, wrapped tight to one another as they move to the heavy beat of the music. As one song ends, Stiles breaks away, complaining about his stupid human bladder as he slinks off to find the nearest free restroom.

Derek, not wanting to dance alone, makes his way over to lean against a wall while he nods along to the music, until a regrettably familiar scent catches in his nose. Like peaches and the wind that heralds the first warm front of spring, Paige’s scent no longer makes his heart clench in his chest, but it still isn’t a pleasant knowledge that she is here. 

Not only is Paige in attendance, but she’s striding towards him, wearing a tight, reflective party dress that once upon a time would have driven him wild, but now does little for him. On her face is a small grin and she shyly waves to him.

“Hi, Derek.” She says in that delicate, soft spoken way of hers. 

No reason for him not to be polite, so he cracks a wry grin of his own. “Hey, sweetheart. You look good.”

“Thanks. So…”

“So?”

There’s an uncertainty to her soft features, which are stunningly like Stiles’, he realizes for the first time. “You and Stiles Stilinski? I gotta admit, I never saw that one coming.

“It caught me by surprise too.” He says. “He makes me happy.” 

Paige grins wistfully. “I’m glad he does. You two… really look great together.” 

“I appreciate that.” Derek smiles back at her. 

“Listen…” She trails. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I just couldn’t keep up a lie anymore. You were always half there, and I realized that when I had your full attention, you weren’t who I’d built you up in my head to be.” 

“Neither were you. I won’t lie, it sucked, and maybe I moved on a little fast, but when you know…” 

She tilts her head in agreement. “You know.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I couldn’t be everything you needed. And I’m sorry you lost your date to the winter formal.” 

“Theo Raeken asked me.” Paige says. “I still haven’t given him an answer.”

Derek grabs her hand. “Go with him. Theo’s a good guy, you’ll have a lot of fun with him.” He urges her.

“Okay, I will.” 

“I think I see Stiles coming back. Listen, how about one last hug, for old time’s sake?” He asks. 

Rather than answer, she leans up, wrapping her delicate arms around his neck. “I hope he treats you good.” Paige whispers.

“He will.” He murmurs into her hair, before pressing a last kiss into the top of her head. She departs after that, sinking back into the throng of humanity with a final wave goodbye. 

Stiles walks over, looking curious but not the least bit upset. “What was that about?” He asks lightly. 

Derek turns, pulling the younger man in close and kissing him chastely. “Just saying goodbye.” 

“Closure is _very_ important.”

**-❄-**

The last seconds of the decade tick by. Derek and Stiles stand at the heart of the crowd, watching as the newscasters in San Francisco lead the countdown for the Pacific Time Zone into 2020. Surrounded by friends and classmates, they shout along with the countdown. 

Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. 

Stiles turns, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck and pressing their bodies close together.

Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.

Derek takes in the sugar and lilac scent of this incredible human in his arms, wondering what he did to deserve someone like this. 

Ten. Nine. Eight. 

They lean in close, kaleidoscope green eyes locking with whiskey amber ones. 

Three. Two. One.

They kiss. 

_“Happy New Year!”_

The two men break apart, grinning like fools, just in time for someone to lead the party in a chorus of _Auld Lang Syne,_ which they both belt along with. Once it’s done, they lean back to kiss once more. 

Each tastes a bit of their future in the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop reviews, validate me please. I’ll update The Broken Crown soon, and I’m toying with trying again at Healer’s Winter.


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